


Reflection

by Sharyrazade



Series: Assorted Disney AUs for FE14/13 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Mulan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mulan (1998) Fusion, Bastardized mythology/theology, Below Canon-Typical Violence, Corrin is an obsessive bureaucrat who hates avalanches rather than a tertiary antagonist, Even-more bastardized history/geography, F/M, History Jokes, Pseudo-History, Turks and Mongols I am so sorry but this had to be done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9639602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharyrazade/pseuds/Sharyrazade
Summary: When Garon, Shanyu of the Nohrian Steppes receives one of his messages from the Earth Father during a ceremony, he decides it is at long last time to take his horde to war and add their ancient enemy of Hoshido to his growing empire. Made aware of this threat, Emperor Sumeragi decrees that one man from every family will be called upon to defend Hoshido from the invaders.Fearing for the safety of her aging uncle, a young woman, a kindhearted misfit named Oboro disguises herself as a man and steals his spear and horse, intending to go to war in her uncle's stead, setting in motion an adventure which will go down in the annals of her country's legend.





	1. Chapter 1

While few, if any outsiders would ever have the opportunity to witness one, a ceremony held by Nohrian shamans was quite the experience to behold, the overpowering fragrance of incense and the rhythmic drumbeats and chants, on the eerily-serene steppes were often enough (particularly when led by a prodigy in the arts such as Leo, the Shanyu's second son) to invoke a sense of otherworldly ecstasy in even the most skeptical of observers. The Shanyu, on the other hand, was not one of these individuals. In fact, he was particularly prone to such trance-like states, often announcing their conclusion with a booming laugh.

"Eureka!" Garon exclaimed, abruptly seizing the attention of all seated around the ceremonial flame. "The Earth Father has spoken! Gather my war council to my tent at once!"

Jerked from his trance as well, Leo locked eyes tiredly with his wife, the shamaness Nyx as their shared expression said it all; another long night was inevitable.

 

In his father's _ger_ (naturally the largest, most extravagant one in the camp), as Leo gathered the necessary herbs and started the not-inconsequential task of starting another ceremonial fire, he tried unsuccessfully to tone out the sometimes-excited, sometimes-anxious chattering of the Shanyu's war council as they awaited the man of the hour:

_"Oh, so we are going to fight them after all, the poor dears."_

_"Oh, my! I certainly hope it does not come to this, Xander my beloved! I couldn't bear to be a widow!"_

_"Oh, cut your stupid act, Charlotte! It's just war! What's the problem?! And all your arse-kissing STILL isn't making you first wife!"_

_"Whatever! I'm sick of these two-bit raids for loot and wenches! When are we seeing some REAL bloodshed?!"_

_"All in good time, my dull friend. All in good time."_

_"Shut your vile mouth, Hans! I'm certain Father is just calling us to discuss making peace with southern tribes. They can surely only suffer so many punitive expeditions in one decade."_

 

The ceaseless chatter made Leo almost glad to see his father, not an especially pleasant man, darken the threshold of the tent, as it would at the very least, shut this lot up for a few minutes. Taking his seat at the north of the _ger,_ the Shanyu cleared his throat. "So I trust you all know why we are gathered here tonight?" he growled threateningly.

Iago gave a smug, malicious grin. "Of course, milord." he answered with a tone ugly as his expression. "Of course, we must see if the young Prince is truly up to his new duties."

"Yes, that is true, Leo has an important role to play." Garon answered tiredly. "However, no amount of tearing down my son will regain you your position, Iago."

At his figurative brain's humbling, the brute's face lit up. "So we ARE crushing the Hoshidan insects after all?" Hans inquired with a sick grin.

 

Garon grunted in confirmation. "For once, Hans is correct." boomed the Shanyu's voice. "In his infinite wisdom, the Earth Father has informed me that the time to expand the empire east is nigh and finally wipe their decadent civilization from the face of the earth."

The non-Leo and non-Garon occupants of the _ger_ chattered among themselves once more, whether in concern, excitement, or some combination of the two for a good half-minute before the Shanyu halted it with another throat-clearing. "Now before the ceremony begins, has any one in this room any objections or concerns?" Garon inquired dangerously, looking to his right. "Xander, are you and your women of the same mind?"

"Yes, I am, Father." the prince said dutifully. "You have my trust fully."

"Fine by me!" chirped Peri. "Time for some bloodshed!"

"Oh, my, I'm so conflicted!" replied Charlotte dramatically. "But in the interest of being a dutiful wife, I cannot say I do."

"I cannot say I particularly enjoy the prospect." admitted Camilla. "But I will defer to you, Father."

"Come on!" whined Hans. "When do we start killing the rats already?!"

"Of course not, milord." answered Iago obsequiously. "Your wish is my command."

 

Garon grinned that particularly maniacal, awkward-looking grin in celebration. "Leo, it is time!" the Shanyu bellowed jovially. "The flame!"

As expected of a dutiful shaman, let alone son, Leo wearily added the select collection of herbs to the pyre before setting it alight, chanting his select incantations as the heavy, incense-laden smoke billowed throughout the tent and the hole directly above. In all actuality, this "Earth Father," whether he existed or not and the extent of his powers, was of little interest to him, the shaman-prince greatly preferring the spirits with which he considered familiar and reasonably (and in general) trustworthy.

Nonetheless, the Shanyu was absolutely obsessed with him, and that was the only opinion which mattered in this regard. "Well, boy!" said Garon, his tone an interesting pastiche of childish anticipation and aggression. "What is it? What do you see?!"

Eyes blanked under his eyelids, Leo droned some incomprehensible words in a doubtlessly long-dead language before giving his report. "I see...." he began absently. "Burning villages....countless widows and orphans...you in their capitals, northern and southern, and the emperor at your mercy, Father...."

 

Garon laughed his loud, booming laugh of questionable sanity once again that night as he held a bundle of herbs high. "Oh, great Anankos Khan!" he cried. "Lord of the earth and all its secrets! Twice tonight, you have gifted us with visions of a glorious future! I present to you this offering so that you may grant us eyes and we may know your will for certain in this world."

Without delay, the Shanyu hurled the bundle of herbs into the fire; for half a minute or so, the flame died down, being reduced to a collection of embers. But when the _ger's_ occupants had (whether out of relief or disappointment) largely given up on the conflagration, the flame sprang back to life, the brilliant, sickly purple column shooting off even through the hole in the tent's ceiling. 

"Yes, yes, you are most gracious, my lord!" said the Shanyu joyously. "Xander! Send word to the tribes! We ride as soon as possible!"

 

Now for all his obsequience to his father, even when his judgement was not the greatest on the steppes, Prince Xander knew his brother well enough to notice something...off about his reading; even in a state of trance, his body language gave off a certain sense of unease. Once he'd completed his task and sent birds in all four cardinal directions, later that night, Xander, having taken great care not to wake any of his three wives, stole off to the outskirts of the camp to his brother's tent.

"Odin, he may very well have made you his apprentice." came Nyx's stern, high voice. "But by the Heavens- Oh, Prince Xander. I thought you were someone else."

"Not to worry, Nyx." he replied calmly. "Is my brother in?"

"Of course." Leo answered, clutching a cup of some odd-smelling tea. "Where else would I be after a night like that?"

"I'm kind of concerned about Father; can we take this inside?"

 

His _ger_ smelling strongly of incense filled to the brim with medicinal paraphernalia and scrolls belonging to either him or Nyx, Leo offered his brother some of the tea, which he promptly declined.

"Don't you get enough of this stuff during rituals?" he inquired. "Just between us, I can never stand the smell of incense."

"What can I say?" replied Leo, taking another sip of his tea. "It helps me stay connected to the other world. So what was concerning you about Father?"

"Leo, I need to ask you something and be honest with me."

"What's that?"

"Were you being honest with Father about what you saw?"

 

Leo abruptly dropped the small container, its contents spilling onto the matted floor, declining to answer for a few seconds. "Yes, I was truthful." he fibbed. "In the most technical sense of the term."

"So, you lied?" asked Xander, his tone more than a little accusatory.

"No, I actually saw all those things I told him. The context is just kind of, how can I put this...hazy."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that something about this just doesn't augur well. Like there was something missing from my visions."

 

 

 


	2. 萬歲爺 - Wànsuìyé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the terror and contrary to the expectations of the Hoshidans on duty posted to the Great Wall of Suzanoh, the Nohrian Shanyu's swift and brutal campaign to take the wall elicits the outrage of Emperor Sumeragi, sending two of his sons to build up a sufficient force to blunt the nomadic horde.

For a certain low-ranking, entirely unremarkable-outside-of-his-unremarkabilty Hoshidan soldier named Tanaka, along with many others, the Great Wall of Suzanoh was not exactly considered a lofty posting. In fact, more often than not, said deployment was often considered, whether rightfully or not, a punishment. Nonetheless, the great line of contiguous fortifications facing the Nohrian steppe provided an essential function for the empire's defense and for many like Tanaka, knowing that fact provided some level of satisfaction.

Still, all the noble sentiment about defending the weak and one's country in the world did not change the fact that nighttime sentry duty was an exceptionally boring task. At the very least, their daytime counterparts would have the opportunity for a hunt every now and again, as the game on the plains was almost entirely diurnal. But the young soldier soon found himself regretting his consistent wish for excitement as a falcon, as if on the hunt for its prey, spontaneously knocked Tanaka's helmet from his head, the bird perching itself on the spire of the nearby guard tower with a great shriek.

Well aware that it could not possibly be his helmet, Tanaka looked around for the possible source of the faint clanging he detected, his search eventually compelling him to gaze down at the foothills down below and he would not have to wait long at all: Tens of the grappling hooks formed a wave of sharpened iron as they latched onto the wall. Reflexively and completely contrary to his training, as he realized what was occurring, Tanaka dropped his spear, scrambling for the outpost and the distress signal, a great torch on its rooftop.

"We're under attack!" he called desperately. "Light the signal!"

Tanaka's plea went unanswered and it soon became clear why as Nohrian foot soldiers began to scale the walls, weapons drawn for the slaughter almost immediately. Even in front of the guardhouse itself, the young soldier was immediately accosted by two more Nohrians, one scrawny and scowling, the other burly with a glint of psychopathic glee in his eyes; as he scrambled for the ladder, Tanaka narrowly avoided being bisected by the latter's blade before dragging himself to the roof without the help of the shattered ladder.

Tanaka heaved and gasped in relief, under the assumption that he had at least a few seconds of relief from the assault. But even this mild optimism proved to be misplaced, the young soldier stricken with absolute terror as he came face to face with the bird's owner, the hulking Nohrian Shanyu himself towering over him, wearing a tunic of fine, rugged pelts and a distinctive and a sadistic grin. Well-resigned to his certain death by this point, Tanaka carried out his duty, snatching one of the torches on the roof's edge and lighting the great oil drum. Almost immediately, the drum's counterparts across the wall began to light up the night sky, the soldier gleaning some shred of courage from this last act of defiance.

"Now all of Hoshido knows you're here!" Tanaka challenged.

Snatching the guardhouse's banner, the Shanyu dipped the flag into the flame with a self-satisfied smirk. "Perfect." he remarked, turning his wicked gaze onto the soldier before grasping him by the neck. "By the way, boy. Do you know what else you could have alerted your people with for far less energy?"

Reaching over the edge of the guardhouse, Garon released Tanaka for the long drop down to the foothills, his scream of terror, while not audible to the whole of Hoshido, was audible for quite a distance.

* * *

Try as he may, even after all these decades, Emperor Sumeragi could still never quite figure out what exactly the Shanyu was up to at any given point. That Garon was a tricky bastard, he had to give him that; one year, his hordes would be pillaging the Hoshidan hinterlands and demanding tribute, the next he would be offering his eldest daughter's hand to his son and heir apparent. Nonetheless, with his people in grave danger, the one thing he could do was await the report from two of his finest commanders and finest swordsmen.

"Well, Father, this seems to be several steps up from the piddling raids of previous years." Ryoma reported grimly. "In fact, we can confirm that several of the Shanyu's hordes are already en route to engage our other outposts in the northwest."

"Oh, no, that's not possible, Brother." Corrin said boredly, jotting away with his ink brush. "I've tallied everything down to the last blade and arrow and that would have to mean our losses at this point would be-"

"Well it is!" Hinata protested indignantly. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, let me at 'em! Of all the lowdown, rotten, slimy tricks, leave it to Garon to use them all!"

 

Sumeragi shut his eyes meditatively. Despite being somewhat rough around the edges and his occasional bucking of conventions (particularly his obviously-close relationship with a slightly-rude, blonde _Yuezhi_ woman about which he would never go into great detail around him or his stepmother), the emperor still trusted his son and heir with his life and valued his judgements greatly. Still, his stepson-slash-mandarin's phenomenal talent for bookkeeping and any efforts involving numbers could not be discounted, and it would take far too long to gather the standing troops from across the empire to meet the threat in a timely fashion.

"If their advance keeps up this pace, there is no time to collect our forces. Generals, I will send you what we can spare north to form a cohesive defensive line." said the emperor, turning to the son seated at his right. "Takumi! Corrin will issue the conscription notice to the provinces. You are in charge of making these recruits into something Nohr will fear."

The prince gave a slight bow, deep as his armor would permit. "At once, Father." said the prince dutifully.

"That is all, dismissed!"

 

Given his leave from the throne room, Prince Takumi often found himself aimlessly wandering the many halls of the palace to clear his mind, particularly before a mission. Hinoka and her castle guards would see to the safety of his family, and one of her subordinates in particular for Sakura, yet Takumi, being prone to worry like he was, still felt palpable unease for whatever reason and in little mood to deal with the meticulous albino mandarin.

"Oh, Takumi, there you are!" Corrin called, shifting his bamboo slips for further use. "I've got some thoughts on how best to maximize our-"

"Brother, I can't really think about this right now." said Takumi tiredly. "At least not immediately afterwards."

"What's wrong? You seem worried somehow."

"No, it's nothing. I just fail to see how you can remain so chipper about something so...well, boring."

"I guess I've just always been this way. I've always been good with numbers and figures too, so it kind of works out well."

 

Prince Takumi did not dislike Corrin, he truly did not. For all his oddities, the leeway given him as quartermaster general, and elevation to a prince as the son of one of his father's concubines (whom he was actually fairly fond of, having little memory of his biological mother) from Heaven-only-knew-where to empress, the prince still found his stepbrother to actually be somewhat charming, if not baffling.

"We're going to war, you know." he reminded. "Isn't there anything else you rather be spending your time doing? Around the capital and your home perhaps?"

"Of course!" answered Corrin, coming as close as he possibly could to sounding somewhat scandalized. "You seriously think I wouldn't rather be spending time with my wife and young children? We still have to set a good example for the men by giving it our all, even if we'd rather be somewhere else. You know, to keep morale up."

"Right, morale. I don't think we'll have that big a problem with that part. Besides, I seriously doubt that the legendary hero who'll save the empire from Nohr more-or-less single-handedly is just languishing out in the provinces, waiting for me to motivate him personally."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarifying an Oboro headcanon of mine: While not nearly to the degree of Felicia's clumsiness, I always pictured her as being not exactly graceful either.
> 
> Yuezhi = ancient Indo-European (Caucasian) people of the Tarim Basin; just in case it wasn't clear who Ryoma was banging


	3. Wann zeigt mir mein Spiegelbild....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a humiliating incident in town with the local matchmaker proves yet another blemish, a young outcast begins to seriously question her place in the world and who she truly is.

Her elders could and often did make note of her assorted flaws; competitiveness, comparative clumsiness and impulsiveness most commonly so. However, none who dealt with her, even briefly, would deny for a second that Oboro Fan (or was it Fan Oboro?) was highly clever, intelligent, and resourceful; in this case, the young woman casually consuming her breakfast of a bowl of rice in bed while reviewing the classics one last time surrounding the qualities of an ideal wife and woman.

"Let's see..." she muttered to herself, absentmindedly playing with a lock of her waist-length blue hair, brushing the notes on her left forearm. "The ideal woman is quiet, graceful, demure, polite, delicate and...ugh, so friggin' boring!"

While her aunt and uncle had raised her from the time she was a young girl, what did they even care that she impressed the matchmaker? They had a son of their own, her cousin Jun, while a boy of merely ten, barring some kind of unfortunate accident, their branch of the Fan family name was quite safe indeed. Oboro herself, disliked being reminded of exactly why this was, yet lived literally with constant reminders of it; she being a northerner who as a child, witnessed her father and (presumably) her mother slaughtered by Nohrian raiders, saved only by her own resourcefulness and quick thinking did not exactly make this math difficult. Did she sometimes wish for her parents, particularly her mother's guidance during the horribly-awkward years of becoming a woman? Of course. Her aunt, while serving as best a maternal surrogate as her ability would allow, was nonetheless, always somewhat of a cold, distant woman; but after a second or two of fantasizing, she squelched the thoughts, not wishing her certain ordeal on any soul, let alone the woman who had given her life.

With the rooster's very conspicuous crowing, Oboro realized she had dawdled much longer than intended, thanking Heaven that the ink on her arm was fairly quick to dry as she threw on her everyday wear, many of her morning chores still left undone with not a lot of time to do so. Often called too clever for her own good, it was in situations like this where she probably shined the most. The dog, Heaven love him, was of course loyal and lovable, but also fairly dumb as well, Oboro attaching the punctured sack of chicken feed to his tail and a bone suspended from a stick suspended from his collar.

"I shouldn't have to be feeding the chickens, Jun!" Oboro called to her cousin, already irritated, late, and balancing a tray of her uncle's tea. "We all know it's one of your chores!"

"I can't help it! They hate me!" called the boy's voice in return. "Last week, I just poked one with a stick a couple of times and they all started to swarm and attack me! Why don't you believe me?!"

"Because that's ridiculous and we all know it!"

 

Perhaps somewhat unusually, being surrounded by the graves of his ancestors and family members in their pavilion shrine gave Fan Yao a sense of peace, as if insulated from the troubles of the world as he offered his prayers to Heaven and the ancestors alike. He'd no way of knowing for certain, but the original patriarch of the Fan family was supposedly a man of great spiritual power which supposedly reached its peak around his current age. Even were this not the case, a pious, worrisome man such as himself was well-inclined to offer his prayers, lighting one of the overhead candles before clasping his fingers tensely. "Oh, great ancestors," he plead solemnly. "I realize she is an....unusual girl, but please, help Oboro to impress the matchmaker today. And keep any...unusual occurrences to a minimum."

Fan You could have been forgiven for being somewhat apprehensive, if not even more worried; the chickens having swarmed the pavilion not (unlike the claims of his son Jun) in pursuit of their feed and in pursuit of the dog. His niece stumbling with the tray of his tea however, was a somewhat more mundane occurrence.

"Uncle, I'm off!" called his niece. "I've bought your tea-"

Oboro, while an exceptional horsewoman, did not exactly possess exemplary hand-eye coordination. Nonetheless, Yao's reaction time, while not lightning-quick as in his prime, was still more than sufficient to catch the cup in his free hand and kettle on his cane. "Thank you, Oboro." he said, his tone not unlike a man precariously balancing boiling water. "I'll make sure to drink it."

"Remember Uncle, the doctor said three cups of tea in the morning and three in the evening." she reminded chipperly.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware. Your aunt and my mother are waiting for you in town."

Noticing the ink stains on his niece's left sleeve, Yao sighed tiredly. "I'll beseech the ancestors for good luck." he remarked. "She'll need it."

 

Always somewhat of an anxious, highly-strung woman, Fan Qing was ill at ease in among the early morning hustle in town, particularly in the absence of her niece on a particularly important day such as this one. "Where is that girl?" she huffed. "Of all the rotten luck."

Grandmother gave a wry grin. "Luck, you say?" she inquired playfully, giving a conspiratorial glance toward the busy street.  "We've got all the luck we need with this cricket right here! Watch this."

Of all the things which irked Qing about her mother-in-law, it was probably her lackadaisical approach to nearly every task which she would lay out for herself which did so most of all. While she justified this tendency as her age leaving her little time for the formalities expected a younger woman, deeds such as (as well as the extremely strange-looking "cricket") blindly crossing the street only relying on the "luck" gained from the creature, was simply too far for Qing.

Miraculously enough, Grandmother succeeded in reaching the other end of the street with nary a scratch on her. However, the traders, their carts, and beasts of burden, all having taken great pains not to run the old woman down, could not say the same. "Yep, this cricket's a lucky one!" she called triumphantly over the chaos.

 

At the sight of the family's finest black mare bounding over the chaos, her niece on its back, Qing felt no small sense of relief; at least something could go right to day.

"No, everything is fine here, general." assured she assured, helping to collect some stray produce from a shattered cart. "At least with us, anyway."

"Well, that's good!" Hinata confirmed. "If that's all, I'll just be on- Oh hey, Oboro! What do you think of my new uniform!"

Dismounting the horse and tightening the reins to a nearby post, Oboro rolled her eyes. "Just because you're a bigshot army commander in the capital now doesn't guarantee you'll be anymore successful as far as the matchmaker is concerned."

"Well, it can't exactly hurt, can it?"

"No it cannot, general." insisted Qing obsequiously. "And speaking of the matchmaker, Oboro!"

 

One of the things which irritated the young woman most about her station was the extended grooming rituals, Oboro usually being fine herself with a dip in the stream and a change of clothing. She could appreciate the need and occasions for formality, but from the constant poking and prodding, the intricate, oppressive makeup, the layered clothing, and the odd "cricket" Grandmother insisted on attaching to her person, only strengthened her opinion that this was in fact, insanity.

Miraculously, Oboro did actually manage to catch up to the other young women, inserting herself into the tail end of their procession ending at the matchmaker's home and the end of the single-file line. "Well, well," sneered the woman next to her. "it seems the giraffe decided to show up after all."

Yes, Oboro was well aware that she was taller-than-average with longer legs and a big butt, but years of taunting to this effect had largely inured her to the barbs. "Oh, shut up, Chinami. At least I don't dye my hair that gaudy red. And just for that, I'M going to get even higher marks from the matchmaker!"

"Heh, in your dreams, bitch."

"Yeah, whatever. At least I'm not a murderess."

"Just prove it! Oh wait, you can't! Just like all the other-"

 

Oddly enough, the woman known (among her sisters anyway; men were an entirely different story) for her verbal cruelty, abruptly cut off the exchange, turning from Oboro with a flourish of her parasol. What exactly was she even doing even doing here anyway, Oboro wondered to herself. While only consistently pleasant to the opposite sex, it was no secret that the abrasive Chinami preferred the company of women by far. She could never see any but the most masochistic, possibly-suicidal man actually desiring the poisonous woman as his wife. With this in mind, while lacking any evidence, Oboro was reasonably certain that her vile rival was there through some scheme of her equally-vile mother.

Indeed, her presence was so oppressive, Oboro almost welcomed being called into the matchmaker's home, a middle-aged, matronly, inexplicably-overweight woman, even in spite of her probing, vulture-like mannerisms. "Well, I must give you credit in one sense." droned the matchmaker in her nasally tone. "It is the rare young lady who manages to have decent childbearing hips but still be so spindly."

_"Gee, thanks for the compliment, you insufferable cow."_ Oboro thought, obscuring the lower half of her face with a fan. _"And you do literally look like a cow."_

Apparently, Oboro had not been as discreet in transmitting her displeasure as she'd intended. _"My word, how rude!"_ drawled a voice whose position the young lady was unable to quite place.  _"A lady of your stature should know better!"_  

Eyes darting around the room for the inexplicably-human sounding voice, upon locating its owner, Oboro rubbed her eyes, sure that her stress was bringing on hallucinations and this would have generally been a far more reasonable explanation than what appeared to be a tiny, minuscule man springing irritably across the room to give the matchmaker a piece of his mind. Unable to register her shock, let alone her displeasure without ruining the whole endeavor, Oboro, acting on pure instinct, grasped and grabbed for the "lucky cricket," literally throwing him into her mouth momentarily to keep both parties out of trouble.

"Now then," resumed the matchmaker, eyeing the younger woman warily. "recite the final admonition."

Obscuring her face once more, Oboro did in fact, manage to send the uninvited intruder towards the other side of the room and recite the quote from the classic perfectly until the very last line when her notes began to run. Granted, that had taken care of one problem (the matchmaker's sausage-like, ink-stained fingers a negligible one for the time being), but the woman tracing an ink mustache across her upper lip and chin caused Oboro necessarily stifle a fit of girlish giggles, both at her increasingly-ridiculous appearance and its discrepancy between her words.

"Now, pour the tea, exactly as you've been practicing." droned the matchmaker further. "In order to impress your future in-laws, you must demonstrate dignity, poise, refinement, and grace."

Oboro literally biting her right cheek by this point to avoid chuckling, but in hindsight, the sight of said "cricket," in truth a minuscule, silver-grey-haired young man,  sighing contentedly in the teacup as if a sort of hot spring, probably should have been taken as an ill omen. "What?" he inquired curiously. "I must take my creature comforts where I can get them."

Oboro's expressions and hand gestures turned indicative of panic, confusion, and frustration, as if demanding both an explanation from the "cricket" and his immediate departure. "Oh, yes, well a friend's botched ritual seems to have rendered me, quite literally, a tiny little man." he explained, his eyes downcast with shame. "In every sense of the word, I'm afraid-"

 

Fortunately for Oboro, the matchmaker was not a terribly bright woman and one hard of hearing at that. Unfortunately for the diminutive "cricket" and Oboro's attempt to salvage the situation, she was also a woman quite fond of her tea. "Excuse me just a second but-" began Oboro sheepishly.

"As well as silence!" insisted the matchmaker.

Now actively grasping for and taking hold of the cup, the young lady was actually starting to panic. "No! It's not ready yet!" Oboro insisted in return.

"What are you on about, girl-"

Now understandably, the "cricket" was not thrilled about a tea-watery grave in the giant's gullet, spontaneously leaping from his place of leisure as (to the certain disbelief of his erstwhile companions) as Oboro, an already highly-unusually physically strong young woman, knocked the matchmaker onto her (considerable) behind, spilling the boiling liquid all over the older woman. Naturally, she was not happy with this outcome. "You graceless little-" snarled the matchmaker before being disturbed greatly by something struggling beneath her robes.

_"Hm, not nearly as appealing a refuge as it looked,"_ remarked the counterfeit cricket. _"get me out of here!"_

 

The matchmaker's panic, while justifiable, did not lead to anything particularly positive for either of the parties. In her graceless squirming and grasping, the older woman (interestingly enough, considering her scolding of Oboro mere seconds before) somehow managed to knock the charcoal brazier over and was not pleased at all once she'd noticed the sparks singing the seat of her robes. For her part, Oboro did in fact, attempt to help by fanning the embers with the idle fan. However, her attempt shortly saw the embers turn into outright flames, sending the matchmaker into an outright (understandable) panic.

"Put it out! Put it out!" she demanded, startling the other maidens as she burst through the doors. "Put it out!"

Ever the impulsive, helpful soul by nature, Oboro, cognizant of her previous inflammation of the situation, reacted purely on instinct, dousing the woman with what remained of the tea. Freezing briefly in mortified silence at the matchmaker's impending fury, Oboro gave a brief, timid bow and returned the kettle before scurrying to the side of her mother and grandmother. The matchmaker descending upon the women as if ready to tear the girl limb from limb, she furiously tossed the porcelain to the ground.

"YOU ARE A DISGRACE!" she bellowed, doing away with any pretense of propriety or decorum. "You may look like a bride, but you will NEVER bring your family honor!"

 

Her specific traits had caused problems in the past, true. But at this scolding, striking her identity and self-perception to its very core, Oboro felt her heart shatter like the porcelain against the ground. So many people had put months, if not years into the effort for making her presentable for such an occasion and her laziness and youthful pride had squandered it all. While she certainly had some "help," not even the onlookers with their puzzled embarrassment nor the (dyed) redhead with the smug, sadistic grin flashed in her direction could have made Oboro feel any lower than she had at that very moment.

Making their way home, Grandmother, having always disliked the matchmaker even from her childhood, attempted early on to make light of the situation before both Qing and Oboro insisted to the contrary, the latter in particular insisting upon silence. Having trailed quite a bit behind her mother and grandmother, by the time they had reached home, the sun had largely set. Oboro however, could not bring herself to face her uncle, the look of heavy concern upon both his and his aunt's faces shaming her further.

But as she returned the horse to her stable, the young lady, catching her reflection by chance in the drinking water, began to wonder _who_ exactly was the woman staring back at her anyway? Broodingly meandering about the garden, she did not find the answers she looked for, only that to continue being herself could only break her family's heart. In front of the reflecting pond, watched over by the stone effigy of the great Silent Dragon, Oboro began to realize that her reflection truly was someone unknown to her. It was only at the point when she wandered up to the pavilion shrine (a habit she'd developed longing for her parents' guidance and comfort) and its gravestones, did Oboro, prostrating herself before her parents' inscription, realize that she could _not_ be anyone else as she swept the makeup from her face. What exactly would it take, and when exactly, would her reflection show who she truly was?

Sulking in the garden for several minutes more under a cherry tree, Oboro was joined at last by her uncle, offering her a warm, comforting smile. "Your aunt told me about the matchmaker." he began gently.

"I'm sure she did." replied Oboro bitterly. "I'm sure she did."

Taking a seat on the stone bench at his niece's side, Yao affixed a jade comb to Oboro's now-unbound hair. "I would not lose any sleep over what the matchmaker says." he resumed. "Mother is correct. She's always been quite a pill."

 

The young lady grimaced at her uncle. "So the fact that your niece is such a freak is out in the open doesn't bother you at all?"

"Oh, no, Oboro, you've always been a little...different." Yao prefaced gingerly. "But just like everything in nature, every one has their place and purpose in this world. Look at the trunk of this cherry tree: Is it worth less for not being a blossom?"

"Well, it's not exactly going to be appreciated as much."

"Perhaps not, but it is vital nonetheless; it protects the entire plant, blossoms and all, from the outside world."

"That makes sense.... I suppose. Thank you, Uncle. It's just-"

 

Oboro was interrupted by the deep, ominous drums sounding from the village towers. From the few times in her life she had heard them, it had never been anything particularly pleasant and judging by Yao's concerned, severe expression, this time would scarcely be any different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've finally got the young woman I somehow and at some point settled on for our Fa Mulan! I'm honestly not sure why I made this connection, but she's certainly one of my favorites from the Fatesverse and I've lost count how many times in-game I've seen her protect her liege/prince/husband ~~bow!Luigi~~ Takumi from being splattered all over the map, so that's based on my own experiences.
> 
> And my profile disclaimer about focus characters is still in effect: Oboro is probably one of the characters a little higher up as far as this fandom's average score on the "feelings thermometer" is concerned. Averaging at about, IDK, 45-50. (Compared to say, Leo or Xander who would average out at 85 or 70) Only reason she's that low is the "huuurrr racist bitch" crap. 
> 
> No, really? Having your parents die is a lot for anybody to deal with and someone you know being murdered is even worse, but having your parents murdered in front of you and forced to watch it as a kid? So, as a little kid, you have no choice but to watch your parents murdered in front of you by people from your country's archenemy (who more likely than not, see you as subhuman; love 'em, hate 'em, don't care either way, I've made my thoughts on THAT matter pretty clear already) and you're telling me you're going to be more or less cool with said people/country?  
> Doesn't happen. Like, ever.
> 
> Finally, I have no friggin' clue why I made Inigo/Laslow the "lucky cricket." The general color scheme maybe? It's probably the first thing I notice on a character, so that's the only connection I can really make. The being ~~Mushu's~~ Lilith's fall guy/minion came after that though, I swear.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this probably would have worked better with Hana now that I think about it, as her past experiences were more than a bit similar to what I have in mind. But as my readers are aware of, I am complete and utter Sakuhana trash and Sakura as Shang....not likely. It just doesn't work, not even in jest. Garon on the other hand, does in fact, have that weird, inhuman, ashy-grey skin, lust for power, and brutality in common with Shan-Yu; speaking of which, if you were not already aware of and could have gleaned from my description, Shan-Yu is his title instead of his given name, almost certainly an Old Chinese corruption of Khan.


End file.
